


Accepting Donations

by icarusian



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Anal Fingering, Biting, Blood Drinking, M/M, Monstertron Exchange, Praise Kink, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-10
Updated: 2018-09-10
Packaged: 2019-07-10 13:46:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15950597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/icarusian/pseuds/icarusian
Summary: Lotor thinks he's found a black swan in Lance, but it's hard to tell who's more eager to lock the cage.





	Accepting Donations

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SpicyRedPaladin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpicyRedPaladin/gifts).



> my beautiful amazing handsome Monstertron Exchange participant Eli wrote this thirsty mod some crack, so i filled one of his prompts! hope you enjoy your treat babe.
> 
> PROMPT: NSFW Lance/Lotor, Lotor is a vampire and asdfgh Lance likes to be bit xD

Willing bodies tend to be something of a rarity. Unfortunate, Lotor will admit, but stigma and fear still permeate most auras around him, making it a little difficult to feed with ease. How humans can take home complete strangers after the slightest bit of alcohol and perceived chemistry but scoff at vampires who attempt the very same dumbfounds Lotor. Whether it be his kind’s more animalistic features (fangs, hyper senses) or lack of familiarity (“I’m not an _alien_ , you know.” “You may as well be.”), the risk of death is still the same.

It’s laughable, how oft humans forget the monstrosity of their own kind.

The bottom line is, Lotor is _hungry_. Ambient feeding can only stave the _need_ for so long before he’s reduced to—

Well.

Best not to entertain those thoughts for the time being.

It’s not his usual feeding spot, but the 24-hour library on the local college campus could prove lucrative if given the chance. The smell of aging books is more appealing than humid bar-stench, at least. It’s difficult to look “approachable” in a library, most patrons intensely focused on coursework for university or reading with half-lidded eyes, but Lotor must make a wise choice so as not to draw any unwanted attention. Taking in a deep breath and focusing on the auras in the building, he begins his search.

He starts near the center desk; surveys the smattering of students working, many in small groups. A few hide in corners behind shelves, more focused on their phones than the organic chemistry textbooks laid out in front of them. He walks without purpose despite the emptiness tugging at him, tasting the surface energy of each human he passes to see if any are worth making a move on. It’s mostly gray, closed-off, and rapidly waning energy he finds, and he really shouldn’t be surprised; these are _college students_ , after all.

Lotor is nearing the back of the library, yellowing encyclopedias heavier than Gutenberg Bibles lining the shelves and enclosing the smaller study tables, when he happens upon a mundane so vibrant he nearly staggers.

Lotor can almost see the boy’s deep energy as he quietly sings while making notes of his reading material; oceanic blue and foamy white nearly send him into frenzy, every missed meal a mere discomfort in comparison to the spread this mundane has to offer. What he wouldn’t conquer to just have a sip of what he’s made of—

The boy notices Lotor and stops singing, and the silence is enough to make Lotor come back to reality and regret how much he truly must rely on humans. The human opens his mouth to speak, but Lotor acts first, always remembering to stay in control of the situation.

“Procrastinated and paying for it?” Lotor asks with a smooth smile, approaching the table with confidence.

“Nah, I learned my lesson last year. I’m actually getting ahead of my studies. This paper gets assigned next class, but I thought I’d start on it now before my GPA pays for it,” he easily replies. Now that he’s closer, Lotor can appreciate the mundane for more than just his alluring energy. Light brown skin and eyes the color of cyanide, inquisitive by nature, an underbrush of _happiness_ ever-present in his energy, it’s—

Overwhelming. Something of a signal sent to guide this lost ronin home.

“How studious of you. Your peers would do well to follow your lead.” ‘ _Your peers_ ,’ he says like he doesn’t look a day over twenty-two himself. “May I ask what your paper is about? You don’t look tired at all, so it must be somewhat engaging.”

The boy shrinks in on himself a bit, embarrassed at the prospect of divulging his research topic.

_I want to drain the flush from his face until he begs me to return it._

“It’s like,” he flicks on his phone, “eleven-thirty, of course I’m not tired. And, uh, I don’t know how you feel about supernatural beings and their existence since many of them are out of the coffin in today’s society, but—”

“ _Vampires_?” Lotor guesses, unable to hide his joy. They have common ground; Lotor easily takes the seat across from the human. Assertion of presence is always the first step in familiarizing a potential long-term donor. His hesitation to broach the topic is natural and to be expected, as many humans fear that which they do not understand, but he visibly relaxes. “Lotor. Pleased to meet you.” He extends his hand, and the boy takes it eagerly.

“I’m Lance. And not _just_ vampires, but more specifically, ‘ _would most people that swoon after vampires now, due to media romanticization, really enjoy the act of being owned by one?_ ’” Lance explains, shaking his hand with enthusiasm. _Why don’t you find out?_ Lotor wants to ask, but he’s always been one to play with his food.

“Is this for a class working towards your major, or do you have a personal connection with your paper topic?” Lotor winks, resting his chin on his hands as he listens to Lance speak. It’s hard to focus when such a smooth neck is in his line of sight, hard to focus when Lotor has to put all his energy into not letting his fangs elongate at the sight, but he tries his damndest to listen to this eager mundane.

“It’s just a class I’m taking for a historical humanities credit, but I’ve always been into vampires since I was little. Something about them just drew me in, you know?” Of course Lotor knows, he’s falling deeper with each word that leaves his mouth. “My best friend is a vampire, actually! But Keith is so out of tune with his house that he refuses to let me use him as a lab rat for my passion projects.”

Lotor can only wonder how Lance has survived this long if he divulges all this information to strangers he shares the barest connection with. 

“Your best friend is a ronin?” His mind catches up with what Lance said and he blinks in surprise. Lance seems to register that Lotor even knows what a ronin _is_ and stares at him suspiciously. Thank God, his _need_ is starting to verge on unbearable, despite his composure.

“Hang on… How do you—”

“Aww, looks like I’ve been caught. Hello, Mundane.” Lotor smiles, all teeth. He half-expects panic, a scene to be caused, or even to be cursed but not—

“No way. No _way_ ,” Lance breathes in awe, chair sliding across the carpet as he stands and makes his way cautiously over to Lotor. He’s adorable, and so anxious to have Lotor, a fine specimen to research, this willing to participate. His manicured hand reaches out as if to touch the pearly fangs growing ever-longer, and Lotor cheekily does him one better by teasingly taking a fingertip between his teeth. 

“Your fangs are so much longer than Keith’s…” he mutters, seemingly to himself.

Lotor takes Lance’s hand—soft and thrumming with warmth—and turns it over, pressing a single kiss to the inside of his wrist. He has to stop himself from sinking his fangs in right here and now. Lotor holds his gaze, taking in the wide-eyed uncertainty and excitement just beneath.

“I would like to offer you a deal, Lance,” he begins, letting his breath fan over Lance’s pulse. He dumbly nods, willing Lotor to continue, hanging on every word like Lotor is every one of his dreams come to life. “You see, I’m like your friend Keith. As a ronin, I do not have a house that routinely feeds me. I am all on my own to find donors, and even then, I usually end up ambient feeding. Do you feed Keith, Lance?” Lotor turns his palm over once more and slides his lips over each knuckle as Lance struggles to answer him coherently.

“N-No, Keith has a black swan. He and Shiro have been together for—for life, basically,” Lance gets out. Lotor hums, lips dipping lower towards the second knuckle of Lance’s fingers. He can smell the slight arousal undertoning his energy now, and Lotor greedily drinks it in, too starved to wait for Lance’s agreement. Not much different than how he usually hits things off with people before they spot his intention, but this time, his human _wants it_.

“Your energy is by far the most radiant of all I’ve encountered. You’re truly a gem, Lance. I’d like to make you my donor, if only temporarily.” A lie. The opportunity to capture his own black swan, and as a ronin no less, is far too tempting a chance to pass up. Far from peak hunger and Lotor is nearly ready to lock him up, far from the clutches of others looking for a ‘temporary donor’. “Of course, you’re welcome to use me as a primary source for your essay, if you so wish.”

Lance hesitates, but Lotor does not miss the spike in joy radiating from his aura. He’s trembling yet unafraid, likely shocked at his stroke of sheer luck. A final kiss to the wrist, followed by just the slightest grazing of teeth, has Lance babbling frantically his hasty agreement, but they should _probably_ do this somewhere more private, and Lotor couldn’t agree more.

“You’re sure about this? I don’t want to impose, but you really are one of a kind,” Lotor asks, partially to make sure he isn’t dreaming. The ball remains in his court so long as Lance remains unaware of just how affected Lotor is by just the surface energy proximity.

“I'm sure, Lotor. I was practically begging Keith to bite me until I met Shiro,” Lance breathlessly laughs as he packs his things haphazardly. “What kind of guy won’t let his best friend experience the thrill of being bitten by a vampire, just once? A taken one, that’s what,” Lance rambles, struggling to keep Lotor’s unrushed pace as they exit the library. Lotor almost regrets taking hard-working and determined Lance away from his studies, but he reckons the boy will gain more useful knowledge tonight than he ever would reading a book of speculations.

⁂

“ _Breathtaking_ , Lance. Look at you, pretty thing. You're so obedient,” Lotor praises, greedily running his hands up and down Lance’s chest. He emulates something of a painting, his chest arching to follow the caress of Lotor’s fingertips, bare thighs fallen open instinctively and face bunched up, overwhelmed and warm all over. Lotor straddles him, keeping him in place as he shares in the heat radiating off soft, tan skin.

It was so easy to get Lance into bed; a scrape of his fangs and a promise of the the first bite made better with sex, and Lance was like melted candle wax as he let Lotor strip him layer by layer until he was a mere rippling puddle on Lotor’s Alaska king. He whines and squirms as Lotor nips and bites tenderly at his neck, hips pushing up to silently beg for more than just empty promises, but Lotor just rakes his nails in warning down Lance’s sides, telling him, _be patient_. He’s hypocritical; He needs this donor, and soon the donor will need him. Tip the scale when the time is right.

Lance is a beautiful sight, preening visibly at any praise earned, body language open and vulnerable and welcoming everything his prince has to offer. Restraint is difficult to practice in the presence of his black swan to-be, but he retains composure for the sake of timing.

“Tell me your limits, love,” Lotor murmurs, kissing tenderly at the corner of his mouth. Lance _smiles_ , delighted at the sweetness Lotor bestows upon him, and it occurs to Lotor how infectious Lance’s happy energy is. He can't remember the last time an offering such as this one didn't just ask him for ruin.

“Nothing penetrative, at least not… this time. Fingers are fine, just nothing bigger than that, if that's cool,” Lance explains, goose bumps rising on his chest as Lotor idly plays with his nipples. “You're still gonna bite me, right?” he asks as an afterthought, hopeful. Lotor chuckles and opens his mouth wide against his nape, pricking his fangs just to give Lance an inkling of what's to come.

“If you're good,” he answers like he wouldn't starve without Lance. Lance gasps and whimpers when Lotor falls to his side and finally curls his slender hand around Lance’s pretty dick, giving it a few gentle tugs. He slips a bit, hand squeezing impulsively at the base, uncoordinated yet determined to impress. Lance is barely panting— he has to do better, for both their sakes, symbiotic at the root.

“I can— I can be good, yeah,” he babbles, helpless to obey.

“Of course you can, Lance.” Lotor nearly pities how eager Lance is for his bite, knowing full well the experience is going to surpass any romantic expectations set by Hollywood.

Lotor rearranges them to prop Lance against the pillows and sits upright between Lance’s spread legs, ready to make it good for him before the fall. He continues steadily pumping Lance, lips twitching at every new sound Lance breathes into life and one hand reverently stroking the soft flesh of his thigh. What a fool the boy's friend was for choosing a black swan other than the poster child himself. Funny how things tend to play out in Lotor’s favor.

“Grab the lubricant under your pillow,” he requests with no room for argument. Lance twists his body just a tad, digging under his pillow and Lotor gives his ass a quick slap of appreciation before he turns back and hands a small bottle to him. Cry short and surprised and not at all what he expected from Lotor. Soon enough.

“Tell me about a fake vampire legend,” Lance requests back with a grin that says he _knows_ he’s cute and can get away with it. What’s _really_ cute is that Lance has been lulled into thinking they’re equal, and that this relationship is blossoming on mutually beneficial. If he still has his wit, Lotor isn’t doing his job correctly. He feels out of practice, this intimacy a major league game versus the practice rounds he usually executes with the humans he finds. 

“Still researching, are you? Dedicated,” he tuts, sliding his index finger inside and shaking only partially. He hasn’t been fed in so long, body aching for what Lance has. But he’s healing. And it’s addicting, how Lance’s hands fly to Lotor’s shoulders and pull him down for something to help stay anchored, like he doesn’t even notice how shaky Lotor is. He’s soft in the face, thin lips parted as if he were still being kissed, cheeks warm where Lotor kisses them. “Countess Elizabeth Báthory de Ecsed was not a vampire, contrary to sensationalist belief. She was just—” —Lance groans at the steady pace Lotor sets— “—a serial killer. Good enough for you, sweetheart?” Delayed response; Lance slowly answers _mhm_ , sifts through Lotor’s long, soft hair, intent on distracting himself from feeling too good too soon, but Lotor will have none of it. He needs Lance right here, right now, in this moment, aware of who is in control of his pleasure and absolutely hazy with it.

“Stay with me, Lance.” The double-meaning is lost on his pitiful pleasure-addled mind, but he will acquiesce soon enough.

He moans lowly, feeding heavily off of the bright ambience surrounding their bodies like a blanket, the energy Lance emits with every minute stroke feeling like the sun in winter. It’s warm between them, comforting, revitalizing. He slides in another— feels the hot clench, grins at the high-pitched croon of, “ _Lotor_ , that’s—” _ownership confirmation_. Ego jacked up to eleven, just a taste of true submission feeling less like a prerequisite and more like the end itself. Oh it’s going to be so _fun_ to break this one, he thinks.

His strength comes back in crashing waves, now that Lance is getting closer, now that he’s got a looser hold on his aura, now that he’s letting Lotor pick him apart with little mind for the consequences. It’s easier to control his aim, easier to focus and be in the moment rather than touch idly by and drink in the redness easily consuming his deep blue aura. He weighs heavily on Lance, starts sniffing out where he wants to stake his claim. 

“You’re close, aren’t you? Answer me,” he demands lowly, slowing only to drag out the sensations longer, letting Lance gather himself only for naught, a fake out. He hardly gives Lance the chance to speak, working his tempo higher than the sounds coming from Lance, but that blurry gaze finally comes back into focus when Lotor brushes his prostate. Jugular artery, soft wet sex. _Here_. This is where he will clip wax wings. 

“ _There_ , Lotor, stop teasing me, please—”

“Where? Here?” He readies his fangs, breathes in deep and fingers him deeper; brings his knee up to brace against his wrist, never breaking pace, just resolve.

The poor thing is trembling so greatly, instinct matching that of Lotor’s with skinny hips desperately rutting onto the fingers inside him and his own hands gripping the vampire above him like he’ll dissolve into mist without fulfilling his end of the bargain; another fact he’ll have to debunk for Lance when this is over.

“I’m gonna come— Lotor, I’m _close_ —” he begs, turning his head to offer more skin, more blood, more of himself in just a single gesture of surrender. Lance is so desperate to finish he takes himself in hand, not caring about requests to be good or earning what Lotor so badly needs, and it’s with one final cry of Lotor’s name that he surrenders.

Lance screams. His fangs hook into the poor thing’s nape and he drinks and drinks and drinks and drinks and Lance screams. He wonders, briefly, if all black swans are so subdued when they sing for their keepers.

It slowly peters off into whimpers and soft moans, Lotor’s fingers still working into him as deep as they’ll go, caging him in from all sides. He drinks his fill and then some, if only to spare himself from hunger pains ever again. The blood sliding down his throat tastes no different than his past drinks, but something about Lance’s aura mixed with the way he’s sweetly stroking down the planes of Lotor’s back, like he’s trying to calm Lotor rather than calm down himself, makes it that much more satisfying.

He unhinges in stages— removes his fingers, unhooks his fangs, seals the wound with just a few gentle kisses, rolls to Lance’s side. Lance keeps one arm around his shoulders and continues to trace patterns over Lotor’s newly-warmed skin, soft breath panting into the open air, grin wide and content.

Lotor supposes this is where he makes his proposal, sugar-coated and not at all what Lance will one day wither into, but—

“So… when were you gonna tell me it hurt?” Lance slurs, lightheaded, smile never fading.

“Did the sex help?”

“Point taken,” he laughs, gathering Lotor closer, seemingly unbothered by the blood loss. “Wasn’t too bad… Again…?” Lotor doesn’t know if Lance means the sex, the biting, or both but he feels, somehow, as though he’s lost the upper hand.

**Author's Note:**

> i had a hard time vibing with this fic for some reason but i hope it's at least readable? def doesn't feel like my usual stuff but oh well!
> 
> come rip me a new asshole on [tumblr](http://icarosian.tumblr.com/) !


End file.
